


And you say it’s hard to keep a secret

by lizzybean



Series: Change Your Ticket [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Hook Up, M/M, Narry - Freeform, One Night Stand, Soccer AU, football au, potentially PWP, very minor everyone else and their girlfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2641349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzybean/pseuds/lizzybean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall looks back at the field, blue eyes skimming for the body he'd hit earlier. He's not sure who it was exactly, but judging by height and solidness of the boys racing around the field, he has to wager a guess that it's the kid with 'STYLES' across his shoulders. He looks like a total dork, rocking the 90s footballer bun with a headband. Absolutely ridiculous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And you say it’s hard to keep a secret

**Author's Note:**

> Narry Uni football team AU where Harry's on the rival team and Niall kind of hates him. But not really. 
> 
> Not real, totally a work of fiction, please do not send to persons involved. 
> 
> Title comes from One Direction's Change Your Ticket (Which is totally my jam, don't even get me started)

Niall pumps his fist excitedly when the ball sinks into the goal, and even though it wasn't his, he's proud as anything that his team made it. There's such a thrill that comes with hearing the scoreboard bellow as the numbers bump upwards, the sound of cheers and clapping coming from the sidelines.

“Good job, Lou!” he calls across the stretch of green, lifting his hands above his head to clap at the team captain, going back to his starting position. Louis gives him a pat on the ass as he heads for the sidelines, smirking over his shoulder and then laughing when Niall flips him the bird. 

Niall would be lying if he said that he didn't love being on the field, sunshine, rain, even the occasional snow. Win or lose, he loves every second that passes. 

As soon as the ref blows the whistle to signal the beginning of the play, he's after the ball like a shot, passing it to Zayn on his left before nearly barreling into a big, solid object on the field. He pretty much immediately trips, tumbling onto the slightly muddy field with a tiny grunt. 

“Oh, shit, sorry mate,” the object mumbles, offering him a hand to help him back up, but he's already scrambled to his feet and darting off after the action, determined to steal the intercepted ball from the other team. 

He's a lot less excited when the ball hits the other team's net, huffing a breath as he walks to the sidelines to swap out. A freshman scampers out onto the field, clearly buzzing with energy.

“You alright? Took a little spill, I saw,” Louis points out, scanning the clipboard he's snatched from the coach to go over plays. He looks up as Niall takes a long swig from a water bottle. “Hurt your knee at all?” 

Niall glances down at the scar that juts up his knee, shaking his head around his mouthful of water. 

“S'fine, m'just a little distracted I guess,” he offers, tossing the water bottle onto his warmup jacket, shaking out his arms in the cold. It's starting to drizzle a bit. 

Louis grunts an understanding noise, tugging his hands into the sleeves of his jacket. “Distracted by the cute freshman you just hit like a brick wall?” he sniggers, dodging a playful punch hurtling his direction, a wicked cackle escaping him. 

“Fuggoff,” Niall grumbles, curling his arms tight around his middle. “El'd hate that you said that, mate. Checking out other people...” He tsks, shaking his head as he squints up at the darkening sky. It's just another gray day on the football field, but he'd still rather be here than in the library studying for his chemistry exam next week. Louis rolls his eyes. 

“As long as I'm not off snogging them at a party, she doesn't mind,” he hums, licking his thumb before he flips the page he's staring at on the clipboard. Such an old man. Niall huffs a small noise as his response. It's felt like ages since he's pulled anyone, partly because he's either been too drunk to form a coherent sentence in English (his drunken Irish is almost unintelligible to anyone who speaks any language, quite frankly. His drunken Spanish, on the other hand, is quite good.) or he's been cooped up in the library, glasses on and nose in a textbook.

“He is cute though.” 

Niall looks back at the field, blue eyes skimming for the body he'd hit earlier. He's not sure who it was exactly, but judging by height and solidness of the boys racing around the field, he has to wager a guess that it's the kid with 'STYLES' across his shoulders. He looks like a total dork, rocking the 90s footballer bun with a headband. Absolutely ridiculous. 

“He's such a brute, Lou. Fuckin'... what even is that run?” he asks as this Styles kid jogs after his teammates. It's almost an amble. “How did he get on a uni football team?” 

“I mean, he is on defense,” Louis points out as he looks back down to his clipboard. Niall just shrugs, because that makes no difference. He's still on the field and he's clearly enjoying himself judging by the huge grin on his face. 

*

Niall finds out pretty quickly why this kid's on the team. 

Liam kicks the ball his way and he leaps after it, really tearing down the field. He dodges every player the other team throws at him, but right before he can pelt it towards the goal, it's intercepted. The force of his kick propels him backwards and nearly knocks the wind out of him when his back hits the ground. He groans, Zayn's face hovering above his in a matter of moments. 

“You alright?” he asks, offering his hand. Niall takes it this time, rubbing a hand over his ass as he hauls himself to his feet. 

“Who the fuck-” 

“It was uh, Styles,” Zayn answers as he peeks over Niall's shoulder where the other team is currently scoring a goal, the board making that horribly obnoxious noise to signal their point. And Niall really would not have cared that they just lost a point if it hadn't been because of this Styles kid. This dopey, flat footed Styles kid. 

* 

The soccer house is bustling with the day's win, and even though it had been a close game, Niall's still buzzing from the goals he'd scored later in the game, having pulled himself together with a much needed pep talk from Louis. The rival team's players are wandering around with beers, catching up with old friends and starting friendly conversations with new ones. It's a pleasant atmosphere, and Niall feels good. Maybe not the best, a slight case of the sniffles draining his energy to the point where he's not sure whether he's actually sad, bored or just plain sick. It doesn't help that everyone and their partner is there tonight, Louis hanging off of Eleanor as she shakes her head at his antics, Liam stealing kisses from Sophia in the corner. Zayn's disappeared as usual, but that's probably because Perrie's visiting from home.

The night is far from winding down when he decides to seek out some quiet in one of the back rooms, just wanting to lie down and wallow in his loneliness. He almost considers heading upstairs for a quick wank or a joint or something to mellow him out. Energy sparks and fizzles at his fingertips, making him fidgety and wired. 

“Hey.” 

He snaps to attention, looking up at the tall figure leaning casually against the wall, fingers tracing through the condensation on the glass between his hands. Niall's almost positive the amber colored liquid in there is whiskey, and who the fuck drinks whiskey at a party? 

“Hi?” he offers first, not even subtle in giving the other boy a once over. The guy's taller than him by a bit, form slender in the black button up he's wearing, only fastened to about midway up his torso. _Well, that's stupid_ , Niall thinks to himself before his gaze travels upwards, catching on lush curls, pale green eyes, that dorky smile. 

“Oh my god.” The words just kind of slip out, and he can't help the way his eyebrows pinch in the middle. “You're the fuck who knocked me over today! Twice!” he half shouts, pointing an accusing finger. The other boy rolls his eyes. 

“What an introduction,” he chides, taking a sip of his drink and fitting his other hand into the pocket of his skinny jeans. Somehow. Niall's sure that pocket must go to Narnia because Styles has some big hands. “Nice to meet you too.” 

“You're such a shit, you know that?!” Niall snips. He's sure he looks like a ratty little terrier barking viciously at a big old dog, but he doesn't care. He's in a fighting mood (even if it is just from raging hormones). 

“How? For playing the game properly? Sorry I don't play for you to win,” he quips, still smirking for some reason. Niall pinkens, and he blames the alcohol in his system, even if it's only been one pint tonight. That's like drinking a cup of water to him. 

“Fuck you,” he grumbles, imaginary feathers ruffled. “I woulda kicked your ass if it wouldn't have gotten me ejected.” Styles laughs, a short, sharp bark if anything. 

“You ran into me and hit the ground, I can only imagine your fist would do so much,” he teases, taking one last pull from his drink before setting it on an end table. Niall stuffs his hands deep into his pockets so he doesn't sock the kid. If he did that, he'd probably lose his scholarship, his place on the team... it just wouldn't look good on him, having that on his record. 

“I'd wreck you,” he growls through gritted teeth, eyes darkening slightly. All he gets in reply is a cocked eyebrow. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah!” 

Styles looks like he's considering it for a second, tugging part of his bottom lip between his teeth. Niall's trying to figure out whether he's the predator or the prey right now. It's all in a very steady balance right now, and any move could send it tipping in either his or Styles' favor. 

“Huh,” Styles hums finally, and it almost looks like a white flag. Niall doesn't relax though, staying bristled for a beat. His bristle doesn't last for long though. 

He'd been so captivated by the mint green of this guy's eyes that he barely notices the hand cupping his jaw until a calloused thumb trails over the shell of his ear, his eyes going wide. The touch has him melting like butter against a warm knife, and goddammit he is so horny. 

“Wh-what're-” he starts, but he's silent the moment those pink lips touch his, eyes fluttering shut as his hands grapple for something to hold, finally settling on this boy's hips. Styles has this honey sweet softness about him, feminine but still smelling faintly of sandalwood and whiskey. It's enough to have Niall nearly wobbling on his feet. He hopes that the beer he's consumed tonight hasn't made his breath stale.

When they part with a tiny wet noise that sparks too much interest in Niall's trousers, he blinks, startled but intrigued to say the least. 

“Knew that'd shut you up,” Styles murmurs with a wink, settling back against the wall. Niall nearly follows as if drawn by a magnet, still gobsmacked by the fact that someone he kind of hates just kissed him. On the mouth. With a tiny bit of a tongue that he's sure is wicked when put to good use. He sucks in a sharp breath, stood almost statue still as he tries to process this. 

“I didn't break you, did I?” 

Niall shakes his head, lifting his hand to rake through his blonde hair, tugging it tight for a second to get his own attention. He needs to pull his head out of his ass right this second. His brain is screaming at him to say something, anything, just to break the awkward silence. 

“Wanna find someplace quiet?” Shit. 

Styles' lips curl into a slight smile, ducking his head to try and hide it under his hair before he nods. Louis was right when he said this kid was cute, and Niall reminds himself to never tell Louis about this. He would eat this entire situation up. 

*

The upstairs bathroom is throbbing with the music downstairs, but Niall knows that no one will come up here. As soon as he closes the door behind him, he leans against the wood, so unsure of whether this is what he really wants as he locks it. 

“What... hm,” he starts, stopping when he's not even sure what he's going to say. But Styles is already undoing the maybe two buttons he has done up on his shirt, shrugging it off and revealing his gorgeously tanned skin, peppered with an amalgamation of some of the weirdest tattoo choices Niall has ever seen. He swallows, caught up in the mental image of this kid playing footie in the summer heat, sans shirt with his long hair kissing his shoulders. He shifts his hips to hide the fact that he's very obviously hard. 

“I take it you don't do stuff like this often,” Styles hums, breaking the space between them to rest his big old mitts on Niall's sides, fingers undulating randomly and systematically tugging his thin shirt up his belly. It tickles, but in a horribly arousing way. 

“Would it be bad if I said no?” Niall offers, arching an eyebrow. Styles laughs. 

“Not at all. I can tell, actually,” he points out, ducking his head down to press kisses over Niall's neck, dragging his blunt nails up his sides as the tshirt comes away. 

“I-I don't even know your first name,” Niall admits, and it's so corny and lame that he can't help but turn red. Styles laughs. 

“It's Harry,” he murmurs, and the way it rolls off his tongue in that deep northern accent has Niall's heart all a-flutter. 

“Harry,” he echoes softly, their mouths connecting again. It's not as gentle and sweet as it was, Harry's tongue searching for more past Niall's teeth, coaxing his own tongue into action with teasing little licks. His hands don't stop, traveling up Niall's middle to circle the pads of his thumbs over Niall's nipples, teasing them into stiff little peaks. He's achingly hard and partly confused as to why this perfect specimen of a human being wants to hook up in a bathroom. 

“You're okay with this, right?” Harry murmurs when they separate, breathless as his hands drop to Niall's waistband. Niall chances a glance down between them, his breath hitching at the outline of Harry's cock in the front of his pants. All he knows is that he wants to have him naked now.

His fingers fly to Harry's button, tugging hard enough to get them completely undone, scrabbling to tug away the tight fabric. 

“I'll take that as a yes,” Harry chuckles then, grin apparent. 

“Shit, yeah, sorry, just...” Niall sighs for a second, fitting his hand between Harry's painted-on jeans and his briefs. “S'been awhile. Not good at all this, romancin' and stuff.” 

Harry laughs, and his cheeks dimple slightly, top teeth closing over his bottom lip. “I just want you to stay true to your word from earlier,” he hums, hooking his thumbs in his waistband so he can work his jeans down, briefs slipping slightly. Niall can see enough to know that Harry's trimmed down there, dark hairs cropped short. He's not going to admit it, but he might be salivating. 

“My word?” He tears his eyes away from Harry's deliciously deep V, arching an eyebrow. 

“You said you were going to wreck me,” Harry points out, licking over his bottom lip to hide his grin. “I'd like to see you try.” 

Niall's pretty sure that if he says anything right now, his voice is going to be higher pitched. Maybe a squeak. 

“I-I... okay,” he decides after a moment of gaping at the other boy like a fish out of water, wetting his lips before he turns his attention to the task at hand: getting Harry naked. 

When those pants give way to what Niall would later describe to Dio as 'the Holy Grail of Penises', he can't help but stare. It's a bit above average in length, uncut, and when Niall curls his fingers around it and strokes him underhand, his foreskin gives way to a perfectly pink head. A quick comparison and it's nearly the same perfect pink as Harry's lips. 

“Christ, okay,” Niall breathes to himself, sinking to his knees in front of Harry. The other boy makes a pleasantly surprised noise, reaching back to grip the edge of the sink with one hand, the other lacing through Niall's bleached tips, stroking them out of his face. 

Niall's just surprised he's not more overwhelmed by this whole situation. He's still slightly confused that this beautiful creature in front of him is real, is the same person as the oafish beast on the football turf this morning. 

He pushes those distracting thoughts from his head, focusing instead on the clean scent of Harry's skin as he takes him into his mouth, just enjoying the weight of the head on his tongue. He takes as much in as he can, which isn't a whole lot considering his gag reflex is a nightmare. Oh well, he has two hands for a reason. A little bit of spit goes a long way. 

“Sh-shit, Niall,” Harry exhales when Niall adds his fist to the mix, stroking in time with each bob of his head. It doesn't even occur to him at first that he never even mentioned his name once, so wrapped up in Harry's taste and scent and just _presence_ that the house could fall down around them or a teammate could bust in and he wouldn't even notice. 

“Wanna see you touch yourself,” Harry gasps out, and Niall obliges, one-handedly popping the button on his pants and wrangling them down over his hips. His jeans have more give than Harry's, and he can easily fit his hand inside to adjust and give Harry a good view of his own handiwork. He's not as well groomed or even as well endowed as Harry, but he can tell by the low hum that rumbles through Harry's chest and throat that he enjoys the view all the same. 

“Can you, uh, there's probably lube in that cabinet,” Niall requests when he pulls off for a moment, stroking over the other boy as he instructs him. It was an all boy's house and most rooms were shared: there was no way there wasn't a bottle in here somewhere. 

Harry rustles around a bit, his attention clearly on the mouth on his cock, so Niall sighs, standing so he can look himself. As soon as he's on his feet, Harry's arm slips around his middle, yanking his hips forward into his own. The rough rub of their cocks together has Niall's lips parting with a groan, trying to focus on what he's doing despite the roll of their hips together, the damp warmth of Harry breathing against his neck just beneath his ear. He shudders, but his fingers finally land on a tube that he's almost positive is Astroglide. 

“Score,” he murmurs to himself when he sees the purple label, popping the cap to pour a little bit on his fingers. Harry purrs like an oversized cat when Niall slinks back to where he was and laps away the precome beading at the head of his cock. 

When his fingers stroke over Harry's hole, he can't help but absorb the almost sheepish look Harry's giving him, lip bitten and cheeks flushed. Niall kisses up the underside of Harry's cock as he tests the waters, adding the tiniest bit of pressure to his entrance and gauging his reaction. What he gets is beyond acceptable: a tiny flutter of Harry's eyelashes, a slight press back against his digit. 

“You probably love this, huh?” Niall thinks out loud, hiding his grin against Harry's length, skimming his tongue just under the head to make Harry quiver, using the distraction to slip his finger in to the first knuckle. He rubs carefully up the walls of his insides as he seeks out his prostate, rolling the pad of his finger over it. The response is exactly what he'd been hoping for. 

Harry's hands white knuckle the edge of the sink and he makes a tiny noise, body tightening around Niall's finger. Niall can't help but smile against Harry's hip, nuzzling the bone just beneath one of his twin laurel tattoos. 

When he adds a second finger, the result is nearly the same, Harry parting his legs as much as he can with his pants still wrapped around his ankles. Niall's still nearly fully dressed, the neglected head of his cock getting its revenge by leaking precome onto his black jeans. He'll have to change before going back to the party, if he goes back to the party. After this, he'll probably just go back to his room, smoke a bit from Louis' stash and pass out, maybe invite Harry to join him.

“Jus want... fuck, I want you so bad,” Harry exhales, his curls already starting to stick to his forehead with sweat. Niall just wants to rake his fingers through the auburn ringlets, tug them loose from the product keeping them so perfect. 

“Yeah? Well I guess today's your lucky day,” Niall hums as he gets to his feet, withdrawing his fingers. He wipes them off quickly before going into his wallet, finding the slightly rumpled condom tucked in with a handful of coins. It's not his first choice, but it's the best he's got and he's not about to take a risk. 

“Turn around,” he instructs, using his hands on either one of Harry's hips to guide him right where he wants him. He drops his jeans quickly, giving himself a few deserving strokes before rolling the condom on, adding a bit of lube and stroking again. The view isn't bad, the smooth expanse of Harry's back tanned and surprisingly tattoo free. He presses a kiss just between his shoulder blades as he adds a glob of lube to Harry's entrance, spreading it with the head of his cock before pushing in. He's slow, careful, and Harry makes this sinfully low noise deep in his throat. 

When Niall bottoms out, he strokes his hand up over the column of Harry's spine, thumb following the notches as his fingers curl over Harry's shoulder. “Lemme know when you're ready,” he murmurs out, his free hand reaching around to give Harry a few distracting strokes. He knows it stings, that it's uncomfortable and weird at first, but he's sure he can please him enough. 

“Yeah... yeah, m'good,” Harry mumbles after a long moment, and gives his hips an experimental roll, ass grinding back into Niall. Niall purrs, pulling out until just the head is surrounded by that velvety heat, pushing back in at a steady, measured pace. 

_Wreck me._ Those words rattle around in Niall's brain again and he bites down on his lip, lifting his hand from Harry's shoulder to reach into his hair. His fingers knot in the silken strands and give a slight tug to determine his reaction. The moan he earns is enough to have his hips stuttering frantically, murmuring a tiny 'shit' under his breath. 

“Keep doing that,” Harry exhales, and the desperation on his voice is enough to have Niall quickening his pace slightly. One hand stays solid on Harry's hip, the other in his hair. 

“Like getting your hair pulled, hm?” Niall murmurs. Harry nods, earning himself a stiff yank that draws a moan from his throat. He's practically dripping precome over Niall's fist. 

“ _Fuck_ yeah,” Harry hisses out with a particularly rough yank, and when Niall peeks up into the mirror, he's very pleased at what he sees. Harry's bubble gum lips are parted, eyes slipped shut and eyelashes fluttering with each deliberate thrust in the direction of his prostate. When he feels Niall watching him, his eyes open to tiny slits, teeth closing over his bottom lip to smother the smile rising to his lips. 

“What's so funny?” Niall growls, and it's playful and riding a smirk, his fingers knotted in Harry's hair pulling him back so his spine arches slightly, his one hand lifting from the edge of the sink to close over Niall's hip. 

“Just the whole – ah! – situation,” Harry exhales, pressing his hips back hard into Niall's and drawing a moan from his throat. “Coulda sworn you hated me a few minutes ago,” he adds. 

Niall thinks about it, and it holds some partial weight, but he can't say he hated the other boy. There was just a slight misunderstanding. And maybe Niall's only really thinking that because he's got his cock buried in the other boy's ass. 

“I guess so?” Niall thinks out loud, and he hadn't even realized that his hips had stopped until Harry starts grinding down onto him, glancing over his shoulder with a coy little smirk. Niall responds by thrusting hard and fast into him, making him whimper and buckle against the sink. 

Admittedly, Niall doesn't really want to think about how he's gotten himself into this situation, just wants to get off and get into his bed. He works back into a rhythm, focusing on the pleasure coursing through his body and the way Harry folds forward over the sink, holding it tight as their skin slaps together. It doesn't take long before Niall releases Harry's hair, dropping his hand down instead to stroke the other boy, working him in sloppy jerks with his thrusts that are slowly becoming more erratic. 

“Gonna, _fuck_ , Harry, gonna come,” he exhales, and it's almost as if Harry's body responds to those words, tightening wickedly around him. He hisses a quick intake of breath as he finishes, continuing to thrust through his orgasm. It's only when he feels a hot gush over his fist and gaspy little whimper reaches his ear that he realizes that Harry's come too. His tattooed arms are quivering from the attention, shoulder blades stiff and jutting from where he's locked himself in place, trying to hold still. 

“Christ, okay,” Niall exhales, letting go of Harry in favor of gripping the edge of the counter himself, pressing his face into Harry's back to catch his breath. Harry smells like cinnamon and sweat, and Niall kind of wants to rub his face in it until it's all he can smell. He sighs contentedly. So much better than just wanking. 

“That was a good choice,” Harry laughs softly, and his voice is deep and ragged, reaching blindly for the tissue box resting on the back of the toilet. He tugs a few free to start clean up, peering down his chest so he can see what the hell he's doing, rather than swiping blindly at the now sticky skin. 

Niall pulls out once he's summoned up the energy, using a tissue to tug the condom off and wrap it up before sitting on the lid of the toilet. “It was,” he hums, looking up at the other boy, his flushed bottom lip from where he's nibbled it, his curls stuck to his forehead. “I uh, I'm Niall, by the way,” he notes, rubbing his hands over his knees as the other boy watches him lazily, clearly a bit blissed out from his orgasm. 

“I know,” Harry mumbles back, giving him a knowing little smile when Niall's eyebrows pinch downwards. 

“You wha?”

“Louis' a good friend of mine,” Harry explains, pushing carefully off of the sink so he can tug up his boxers, leaving his skin tight jeans around his ankles. It's not worth the effort right now. He leans back against the counter, scratching lightly at his belly. 

“He put you up to this? I'll kill him,” Niall grumbles, standing quickly and tugging up his briefs and jeans, doing up the button. He gets a sudden headrush and closes his hand around Harry's wrist, trying to wait out the vertigo that's just hit him. He clearly needs to get laid more often. 

“He offered a suggestion, but ultimately it was my decision,” Harry murmurs, lifting his hand to curl around Niall's hip, fingertips kneading into the tense muscles of his lower back. Niall closes his eyes. “I saw you in a picture Louis posted on Facebook and thought you were cute, is that so bad?” he adds, and his words are like molten honey, seeping over Niall's skin and filling every pore. He opens his eyes to look over at the other boy, giving his hip a gentle punch. 

“I guess not,” he sighs, quirking a tiny smile. When he bridges the gap between them to press his mouth to Harry's, it's soft and gentle, sweet almost. He can still taste traces of whiskey on Harry's breath, as well as a faint metallic taste from where he might have worn his lip a little too much. “You should stay the night,” he mumbles against Harry's mouth, pulling back ever so slightly so he can peer down his nose at the other boy. 

“Wish I could,” Harry replies with a tiny sigh, bumping their noses together before ducking down to pull his pants back up, having to shimmy to get them up over his hips. “The team's out of here by seven tomorrow morning. Get home just in time for afternoon practice,” he explains, shrugging as an apology. As he works his shirt back on, Niall helps with the buttons. 

“But,” he starts after a moment's silence, patting down his pockets. He tugs out his phone from the back. “We should do this again sometime. And I'll text you-” He waves his phone as an indication. “-next time I'm in the area.” When he hands the device over to Niall, the blonde has to bite his bottom lip to smother his smile, tapping in the digits. 

“M'still gonna beat up Louis,” Niall admits softly when he hands back the phone, his own dead in his pocket. Harry chuckles as he taps out a quick message and sends it, and if Niall's phone's battery hadn't died, he would have gotten a little blip of a text that simply reads 'Styles'. 

– 

When Niall crawls into bed that night, he lies there for a quiet moment before blushing bright red, unable to contain his shit eating grin as he lifts his hands to his face.


End file.
